


RESTLESS FOR WHATEVER COMES NEXT

by angelwriter



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale in Love (Good Omens), Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Desire, Dreams, Dreams vs. Reality, Dreamsharing, Getting Together, M/M, Mates, Mutual Pining, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pining Aziraphale (Good Omens), Prophetic Dreams, Soulmates, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-12-24 00:36:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21090446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelwriter/pseuds/angelwriter
Summary: Wanting what you can't have leads to misery and madness. That much he knows. Yet he cannot shake this feeling that the dreams of this fiery haired man are real. That he exists and that Aziraphale must find him.(In which Aziraphale keeps a journal about his dreams and longs to find the person in it)





	1. EVERY WORD THAT I WRITE YOU ARE THE MUSE

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts), [Chaoticsoul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaoticsoul/gifts).

> Inspired by drawlight. 
> 
> This has a lot of myself in it, please handle with care.

You're like a rogue wind that blows in the dark. I cannot see you, barely know you are even there. Just the lightest touch against my cheek and I happen to believe. Your existence is all around me. I know it deep within my bones. This wrecked ache inside my core that cuts under my skin to know you, your very presence seeking to be found. I can feel you like a distant lullaby that is sung so sweetly, a melody I have almost forgotten but feels all too familiar. A song that I will only remember when we come together to sing it into existence. I find you here all around me, but not seen. I wonder where you are and who is spending time with you. Who makes you laugh, who is smiling at you. Who is it that you love? Do you long for me, too? I can hear the sound of your heart beating faintly next to mine, a slight murmur in my chest of a heart that is not mine and yet it belongs right there where I can admit to memory. I listen to it when I close my eyes. When I am alone, my soul tries to reach across the universe to try to grasp onto you. You are the voice I always know. 

We are meant to be that much is true. 

But one question remains still. 

How do I find you? 

_________________________

I have lived a whole other life besides the one I am currently living. In this other life, I am not a whole other person. I am whole. As whole as a person could ever be. The kind of contentment that you so often dream about but too little actually find. All my life I knew I had to be at this certain point, I had to have this something, this moment or at certain time in my life, just something had to happen to me and then it would all just click into place. I would be able to breathe for the first time. 

I have always felt at a young age that something was not quite right about me. This hollowness that I seemed to have been born with, a constant presence of emptiness, walking around with an ineffable space inside myself. As we all do, we try to feel our confusion and loneliness with other things which only leads to it being merely distractions. That is all it is. Mediocre tricks and temporary highs that will never truly satisfy. This is something I have always felt. I never thought I would know what it was or even one day try to grasp and fix the problem. 

One day I had spoken to my mother who was making dinner one evening. I was merely thinking out loud when I had said: I don't know why but I feel like something is missing.

My mom stopped what she was doing and said something I had never heard her say before and doubt I would hear ever again. She said: Is it something missing or perhaps someone? 

I don't know, I replied honestly. She went to ask me if I longed to find a lover, the another half of my soul so to speak. I did not have an answer, but it did make me think deeply about it. I sat in my bedroom and stared at my bookshelf filled with all the books I had collected since my childhood. I scanned through all the spines and covers and each colour, reminding myself in my head of what the story was and what it entailed. I had discovered quite suddenly that they all had a common theme. Myths and fantasy and science fiction. All about ghosts, vampires novels, werewolf lore, angels and demons. But they all had one common theme. Love. And not just love. Forbidden love. Soul mates. Lovers that were fated to be together since they were created and were kept apart over and over, but they found a way in the end. 

Then I realised the damned truth. I was searching for my own mate. 

Now comes the part where you go, oh the writer is a bit insane! Well, maybe I am. I had dreams you see. For years it's always the same dream. Or rather an occurrence of similar types of dreams containing the same person every single time. Coming back to the beginning, I have lived an entire life with this person. A life separate but very connected to my own. An alternate future perhaps or a future I am supposed to have but have no idea how to get there. I can take out this montage of dreams and replay it in perfect clarity, always kept in prestige condition, always placed back into a vault where I dare not tempt to touch anymore. 

I know this story. The story of us. 

I have weaved it through my subconscious so thoroughly that I can close my eyes and I am there in the present with you. Right there reliving it as if a memory, a memory I had not yet had. Everything is clear, bright, colourful. Each sense is pure and consuming. I am filled up in you when I go back there. I am drawn to you like a gravitational force, something that I have to submit to or risk death. I do not dare breathe when I am in this moment going back to the space which you occupy. I'm vaguely aware that it is only in my mind and I don't care. All I can taste right now is you. 

Taste. I can feel it at the back of my throat, like a sticky feeling clogging up my air pipe, hard as rock and I cannot swallow it down. The hairs on my arms are tingling with promise, the soles of my feet itchy to move towards you, to give in to the inevitable pull. I know this feeling. The feeling of you. I know the atoms you are made of, the one that mirrors mine. I know the temperature of your skin as your fingers trace my cheek. I know each breath out of your mouth, the steadiness of your heartbeat, sure and true. I know each inch of your body that I can map out with my eyes closed in an uncharted maze with no end and ever-changing directions. 

Like right now. I can shut my eyes and I am in your house. I open my eyes in this world where you reside and I am in the living room. I can see every ornament on the shelves. The colour of the couches. The layout and where the TV is. The cabinets in the kitchen, the island made of granite. The tiled floors. Carpets. Everything. I know the textures and shapes and smells of this entire house. I soak it into my pores and my chest swells with the soft encompassing calmness that I am home. 

I know each step I take to your bedroom. The shock that freezes the air in my lungs as your strong scent hits my nose. My body buzzes with a current as your room covers me in your aura and warmth. I know this room all too well. My eyes do a glance around to make sure all is in its proper place. And just like always it is. I have been here so many times it is second nature to me now. I go towards your desk and familiarise myself with the papers strewn on your desk, the greyscale on white of your drawings and etchings. The sharp lines, the careful curves. The twitch inside my heart knowing that somewhere in this room there is a picture of me. You captured me so perfectly. I had forgotten what it had looked like. 

I don't find it. Instead I find your cupboard, all your clothes packed and hanged up, parts neat and untidy in your usual routine of trying to find things to wear. I pause here. I know what is coming. It always begins and ends here. Here I will discover what I have known all these years and yet...Yet I never know. Not really. I have known I guess who you are from the start because you began the same time as me, you were made the same. We started together and we end together. In this world. In this molecular structure that is neither reality nor fantasy, a kind of inbetween place. I know you are real. You are rooted in me so deeply it is impossible you are not. You are as real as I am. 

I know how it goes. I know how it happens. But I cannot know the true ending. I never get there. So here as I pause and take a breath, here I at least know where I have been and where I am going. No further than that. Never further. This is my gift and curse. I reach out my hand and fumble at the back of the cupboard for what I know is hidden at the back. My fingers will first find a red hoodie that you give to me when we are together. I recall so many days when I wear it and it smells like you and you hold me in your arms, my chest pressed tightly against your chest I can't tell that we are even separate beings. You are merged with me. I know. 

I don't take the hoodie out although it brings me immense comfort when I miss you. And the ache of missing you sinks into me now at this moment. The moment that I am aware of your existence, the reality, the striking fear of it all. My spine runs with shivers. My body feverish, heart pounding furiously. I am the only one who knows it is there - your secret journal, leather bound and filled with all your private thoughts. Real. This is real. I am hyper aware of it more than before. I know the weight of your journal in my hands, the feel of the cover under my fingertips, the coarseness of the paper stained with your words. I open it up and my eyes fall onto words that I have read already. I don't need to read it slowly this time because I know what I find. Me. All of it is about me. The same dreams I had about you, you had about me. Here is the truth and it cannot be denied. 

This is when you decide to walk into your room. I know when you enter because your scent hits my nose so hard it almost burns, my entire body is alert and stuck in place. I'm not even sure if I am breathing at that point. My hands shake as I clutch desperately to your journal, both fear of being caught out and bursts of unbridled joy washing over me in suffocating waves. A part of wishes to freeze this specific moment. 

I have had many moments with you. The fights - oh the anger in my bones that made me want to see you bleed red. The make ups - the heartfelt realisation of the understanding between us. The laughter that echoes like a beautiful chorus choir. Kisses. Every kind of kiss you can imagine. Vivid touch. The salt taste of your sweat. Your flesh between my teeth. Hands eager and willing to worship you. The smiles that are radiant like suns and your eyes. I know the look you give me. The look that tells me you feel it, too. A mirror looking back. You. Me. Us. One look and there is no turning back. 

I know the velvet smooth caress of your blanket and pillow on your bed. The weight of us on the couch when we watch movies. The slight prickle of the grass outside in the garden and the aroma of chlorine clinging to my senses of when we swam together and I laid on the grass. You drenched in water, your hair dripping down the length of your spine and over your collarbones. You leaned over me and I could see the curvature of your neck, my head dizzy like I am falling through space. I looked up into the light of the sun to try to glimpse your face...The brightness blocks me. 

I know you. I know everything about you. I know what we are and what we are not. How we react, how we cry and scream and love. How our bodies collided. When and how and all the bits between. I know our story. 

The one thing - the only thing - I don't know is who you are. What your name is. Where you are in my current life. 

You never tell me. 

I have this indescribable experience with you, a life so unimaginable and utterly and impossibly REAL and I struggle to find it. Reach for it, grab hold of it. I can feel my soul begging for it, restless in its pursuit of you. 

You can call me crazy, dear readers. In fact, please do. The most common line in the history of love stories is that we are all fools. Fools for love and by love. The great Oscar Wilde had written: "Life is one fool thing after another whereas love is two fool things after each other." So call me crazy for believing in love, a love so many of us read about in fiction and witness in fictional worlds with fictional characters. I know it to be centered around a forgotten truth, that although the stories might not be real the love is. You cannot hide it where it exists. 

It exists here within me. Bountiful and growing. Maybe I am a fool for loving someone so completely with every broken shard of who I am and all the parts that I myself have not even discovered yet. I cannot let it go no matter how hard I try. I have nothing else to give.

I told him, this creature that has taken all of me, that I would not write our love story. My love, what am I supposed to do with all of this - the words I long to say and the despair, the desire and want for you that never subsides - when you are not there to share it with me? 

If they say all love stories are ghost stories then for once I don't question the art of metaphors which sometimes can inadequately explain the matters of the heart. Love stories are ghost stories because it exists in these pages, like a ghost hauntingly fading in and out of your words, breathing into each sentence, spreading their essence onto all that you have tried to bear and purge into writing. The ghost never dies and it will stay because maybe that is the only way to keep them, this ghost of a love, the memory of a lover that is fleeting. 

I admired the words of John Green and I will continue to stand by this saying...

"Writing doesn't resurrect; it buries." 

And oh, darling, I have been trying to bury it all.


	2. HIDDEN ARE THE SECRET BITS OF MY HEART

Psychologists say that when are aggressive and angry seemingly without cause it is because we miss someone. 

I have had my fair share of aggression over the years. Outbursts of harsh words and doors slamming. Most of the time I keep the anger in, I hide it away and keep it where no one can see it. It boils my blood under my skin, but I still put on a smile. I have to. I can't let them know. Not anyone. 

Do you know what it's like being aware of the empty spaces of you, pitiful and hollow and dark? Your body doesn't feel like your body. It's as if you cannot feel anything besides this vast expanse of nothingness. A void. I don't want to make it sound damp and dreary, but that is what it is like. Do you know how it is? Do you feel it, too? 

I find myself again in this place. Hot water running over my back, wetting my curls until it is plastered on my head. The steam fills the bathroom and I can hear the silence besides the low run of the taps and the water sliding off my skin. My one hand is braced on the shower door, my head bent low. I can't quite catch my breath as my mouth is open screaming silently into the abyss. I scream and scream with every part of me, pushing every ounce of anger and frustration, loneliness and anxiety, shattered hopes and dreams. I pray that someone out there in the universe hears me. 

Do you? Can you? Do you ever find yourself screaming too? Longing for things you can't name, but know that once you receive it, the empty parts will heal and close. No. I am not desperate for a partner or for you to rescue me from my despair. Life is well. It is good and filled with ample opportunity that I must seize. But I know this story. I know how it goes and I have told you before. 

I cannot tell this story without you. 

I don't need you to hold me in the night like you used to. Us under the covers with the light switched off, aware of your spiritual astral presence, I can feel it like a buzz of a current as your hand is laid over my waist, the heavyweight pressure of your chest pressed up against my back, feel the tickle of your hot breaths hitting my neck. I know it is you. I close my eyes and I can still smell your scent as it lingers around me, the sure soft touch of your grey shirt under my fingertips. The short hairs at the nape of your neck that you love me to play with. God, I know you like I know myself. 

I don't need it like I used to though. You telling me to be brave and that I am strong. Although my heart aches when you call me 'angel, I don't need to hear it anymore. 

What I desperately need is to have some kind of conclusion, some kind of knowing, a resolution or explanation for what is happening. 

Why aren't you here? You stupid fool! 

I am here. I am here. I am here. 

You used to say that to me all the time. Well, here I am! Where are you? 

Restless. Begging. Aching. 

For Heaven's sake, who are you? Must I come find you? Answer me. I am talking to nothing now. I have nothing. Why does this feel like I am only half without you? I can't do this without you. I cannot walk the earth when you are not beside me. We are partnered, supposed to lend a hand when needed, support each other through everything. Stay. We have eternity, don't we? We are supposed to be together. 

I am crying out for you. 

Listen.


End file.
